


tender things that we were working on

by harperuth



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Tenderness, but it's tender, respecting boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: Misfire’s done a lot of weird slag in berth. A lot. But for the most part the weird slag was done to him because he just. He’s not, “I’m not really what anyone would consider the In Charge Guy.”- - -Or, Misfire Tenderly Doms The Pit Outta Swerve
Relationships: Misfire/Swerve
Comments: 26
Kudos: 138





	tender things that we were working on

**Author's Note:**

> title is from 'don't you (forget about me)' specifically the new found glory cover

The thing about it was...the whole thing really...what it came down to was that Swerve asked.

Misfire’s done a lot of weird slag in berth. A _lot_. But for the most part the weird slag was done _to him_ because he just. He’s not.

“I’m not really what anyone would consider the In Charge Guy,” Misfire gave Swerve a sideways look, optics darting from his bright visor, trembling grin, and digits threatening to come together and tangle.

“If you don’t want to it’s fine!” Swerve said, too quick and too bright. Misfire narrowed his optics. Swerve’s digits inched closer to each other, “I know it’s a lot and probably weird, and why would you—”

“It’s not that,” Misfire said slowly, “Pits Swerve, the idea? It’s hotter than slag.”

“But,” Swerve prompted.

“You really think that _I_ can do this for you?” Misfire looked away, uncomfortable now that the thought had been given words.

A servo reached out and gripped his own, surprisingly steady and sturdy and a lot of things that he knew Swerve didn’t think about himself but were true anyway.

“I think you’re the Take Care Of Me Guy,” Swerve said, “It’s in charge only by inference, but really it’s taking care and I know you’re really, really good at that.”

“And because I’m hot right?”

Swerve’s laughter bubbled up, a tad breathless, like he was always surprising himself with the sound. Misfire liked it each time.

“And because you’re way hot,” Swerve giggled.

Misfire stared down at their joined servos, “So, tonight, or?”

\- - -

The answer was very definitely Not Tonight.

“There’s _negotiating_ involved Grimmy,” Misfire complained, clinging to Grimlock’s back while he did pull-ups, “There’s _contingency plans_. I’m starting to worry about what I agreed to here.”

“But you’re gonna do it,” Grimlock huffed, hovering with his mouth plate level to the bar. Misfire squirmed. He was glad that he and Swerve had agreed that finding other bots hot was okay, because hanging out with Grimmy when he was working out was always a Thing. Relationships were weird. 

“Of course I’m gonna do it,” Misfire wriggled again, “He _asked_.”

“And I’m gonna ask that you stop rubbing off against my back,” Grimlock huffed, amusement in his tone.

“Ugh, you're no fun,” Misfire pouted, but stopped. 

“You have a very cute new friend to rub off on,” Grimlock resumed his pull-ups. Misfire sighed. 

“He’s _so cute_ ,” He tucked his face into Grimlock’s neck. 

“He is,” Grimlock agreed. 

“I don't wanna break him,” Misfire finally said after a few more repetitions. 

Grimlock let go of the bar and landed hard, knocking Misfire to the ground. He crouched down and pinned Misfire with a huge servo on his cockpit, “You’re not gonna break him. You wanna know why?”

Misfire stared at him with wide optics. His vents felt quicker and his interface array was definitely pinging at him. He couldn't _wait_ to tell Swerve about this later, “Yes.”

“Because you’re gonna do all the negotiations, and remember all the contingency plans, and make sure the whole thing is done _right_. Because you don't wanna break him, so you’re not gonna,” Grimlock’s visor burned with the intensity of his gaze. Misfire nodded dumbly. Grimlock rocked back, freeing him from his pin. 

“C’mon,” Grimlock grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up, wandering over to a rack of weights, “Don’t worry so much. You can do this.”

“You seem awfully confident of this,” Misfire collapsed onto an empty bench and watched him add plates to a bar, “And knowledgeable.”

Grimlock shrugged, “I didn't appear out of nowhere. I know things.”

“Grimmy,” Misfire gasped, twisting himself half upright and nearly falling off the bench, “Have you played interface games before?”

Grimlock managed to look sardonic even with no face, and his visor light flashed, “S’not a game. You know that.”

Misfire collapsed back down and groaned, “I’m gonna frag it all up.”

“I’m gonna throw something at you next time you say that,” Grimlock grunted, lifting the bar off the rack, the weight at either end bowing it. Misfire watched in solemn silence as he dropped into a squat and made his way back up. It was only respectful. 

“Stop staring at my aft,” Grimlock grunted, dropping again. 

“Sure,” Misfire agreed idly, dropping his optics to Grimmy’s thighs instead. 

Grimlock racked the bar, turning to raise an optic ridge at Misfire. He grinned back. 

“You know how I know you're not gonna frag it up,” Grimlock said quietly, and Misfire felt pinned by his gaze again, “Because you take care of people, Misfire. You’re good at it, and you’re gonna take care of Swerve.”

“He _asked_ Grimmy,” Misfire said just as quietly. 

“Yeah, and you're gonna do it,” Grimlock turned back to the bar.

Misfire sighed, tossing an arm over his optics, “I’m gonna do it.”

\- - -

So, they negotiated. And planned. And planned for those plans to go wrong and planned for _those_ plans to go wrong. 

And it didn't really crystallize until he was frowning during one of their planning sessions and interrupting Swerve, “Wait, how are you gonna word out if you can't talk?”

“Huh?” Swerve looked up from the tenth datapad they’d had to start in on. (In fairness six of them they lost and/or broke. At least two more had devolved into a lot of filthy note passing that didn’t really amount to any kind of plan.)

“We have all these plans for how to stop if it's too much, but they all require talking,” Misfire frowned a little deeper as he paged back through the pad, “What happens if you can't talk?”

“Oh,” Swerve’s plating shuffled. Misfire looked up when he heard the sound of his fans coming on. Swerve’s visor was bright, and his mouth was open, just a little bit, in a way Misfire was _very_ familiar with. 

“What?” Misfire glanced behind him, expecting to see Blurr waltz past despite them being alone in Swerve’s hab, “Did I say something?”

Swerve shoved off the couch and dropped to his knees between Misfire’s legs, mouthing his way up from Misfire’s knee. Misfire dropped the datapad, slouching down in his seat and scrabbling for Swerve’s servo, “Slag, _Swerve_ , what.”

“I told you,” Swerve said, and paused to lick a hot path over Misfire’s modesty panel, “That you would take care of me.”

“Oh,” Misfire said, a little dumbfounded and a lot turned on. His panel transformed away, and Swerve shoved his face against his valve, a little too rough and just right. 

“Oh frag,” Misfire whined, “ _Swerve_.”

\- - -

Suddenly though, the planning was...done. 

They picked a day that worked for Swerve, since he was the one that technically had duty shifts. They had the time and the plans and the contingency plans and none of that accounted for how shaky Misfire’s vents felt.

“You’re sure,” Misfire checked again, running digits underneath the cuffs on Swerve’s wrist.

Swerve’s fans had been on since they shut the door to his hab, but they clicked higher at the touch, “So sure. Very sure. Are you sure? Because if you don’t wanna we can not but I really, _really_ wanna do this like. Right now. Preferably.”

Misfire tranced a digit from the cuff, down Swerve’s arm. They were pulled out to his sides, enough slack that he could bend his elbow joints, but not enough to reach his chassis, or more importantly, his array. He continued his path down Swerve, mouth pulling a small smile at the rumbling of his engine under his chassis, down over his hip until he reached the next cuff, larger and sturdier, wrapped high around Swerve’s thigh, pulling his legs wide apart. He yanked at the strap that disappeared off the side of the berth. It didn’t give.

Swerve’s modesty panel transformed away so quickly it had to be a little bit painful.

“Sorry!” Swerve yelped, squirming in the bonds. They kept him exactly where he was meant to be, “I didn’t mean— You haven’t said you’re sure yet, but I just— You— Misfire, _please_.”

Something sharpened. Or clicked into place. Or maybe it wasn’t as mystical as all that, and Grimlock and Swerve were right and he _could_ do this, could do it the entire time. But Misfire’s optics locked onto Swerve’s visor and he felt...good. Settled. Confident, maybe, “Color?”

“Wha— Oh, I, um. Green,” Swerve stammered, fans clicking up again, “You?”

“M’green,” Misfire pushed up and hovered over Swerve, enjoying the brightness of his visor, the way his mouth always dropped open that particular way when he was charged up. Misfire dipped down and kissed him, dipping his glossa into that open mouth.

“I like you like this Swerve,” Misfire said as he pulled back. Swerve chased him as far as he was able, but was stopped after rising only a few nanomechanometers. Misfire smirked, “You look real pretty all spread out and ready to take everything I wanna give.”

Swerve whined, his thermoreceptors _already_ overrun and redirecting heat out his mouth, making him pant. Misfire kissed him again, relishing the building heat against his lip plates. Swerve whined into his mouth. Misfire dragged himself back reluctantly.

“I like kissing you so much,” Misfire commented, running his servos over Swerve’s chassis as he resituated, getting his knees between Swerve’s spread legs, “You’re mouth is so fragging magic.”

“What— ha— what does that even _mean_?” Swerve panted, visor bright and following Misfire’s every move.

“Dude. We timed it once. Do you think _anyone_ has ever made me overload in less than thirty kliks with just their mouth before? Magic,” Misfire settled back, aft on his thrusters, and finally looked at Swerve’s array. He liked Swerve’s array almost as much as he liked his own.

“That comfy?” Misfire checked, thumbing the mag lock on Swerve’s spike housing, keeping him recessed.

“It’s good,” Swerve pushed his hips up as little as he was able into the contact. Misfire grinned.

“Like your valve too,” Misfire said. Swerve’s valve was like his mouth, probably too big for his frame, something constantly coming out of it, and begging to be filled up, “Look at _you_ , already dripping for it.”

He was. There was lubricant drooling steadily from his valve onto the berth already. Misfire cycled his dry intake, “So fucking hot, the way you ooze.”

Swerve whined, “It’s— I’m...messy.”

“Frag yeah you are,” Misfire dropped a servo to grip Swerve’s thigh, and let the other hover over his valve, “I wanna bathe in your ooze, babe.”

Misfire watched as Swerve’s valve cycled on nothing, pushing more lubricant out and onto the berth. He hummed, “Guess I could settle for a facial today.”

“Misfire,” Swerve struggled against the bonds, “Don’t—”

“Color,” Misfire prompted, digits nanomechanometers from parting Swerve’s valve mesh.

“Green, green, green,” Swerve tried to roll his hips up, but they didn’t move beyond a little twitching. His anterior node was already spreading his valve mesh, just a little, and it was blinking fitfully. 

“Green,” Misfire happily agreed, and got to work.

\- - -

The first three overloads weren’t...well, they— not that they weren’t...special. Misfire was into _any_ overload of Swerve’s a hundo p. But they weren’t what the scene was about. Swerve was good for two to three on any given night, and the only difference was that Misfire wasn’t getting off just as much.

Misfire was...content though. Sure his charge was building, but he was more than happy to be chin deep in Swerve’s valve. Swerve’s third overload bubbled sharply against Misfire’s lip plates and that...that was when the show began.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Swerve panted, almost sobbed, and Misfire did pause on instinct. He lifted his face and grinned. Swerve wasn’t looking at him, his visor offline and his mouth twisted up in discomfort.

“Stop?” Misfire purred, still close enough for the vibrations of him talking to carry through Swerve’s valve mesh, “Oh babe, we haven’t barely _started_.”

“Misfire,” Swerve gasped, and tried to flinch back, but the bonds held strong, “Stop, it’s— I can’t—”

“Color,” Misfire prompted.

The hab was silent but for their whirring fans for a long moment. Misfire was about to sit back and word himself out when Swerve whined, almost too quiet to hear, “Green.”

“Swerve, color,” Misfire said again, putting force behind the words.

“Green,” Swerve yelped, hips trying to roll back away.

“Green,” Misfire agreed, and did sit back then, sliding his servos from where they’d been gripping Swerve’s thighs to slide digits idly over and dipping into his valve mesh, “You can overload for me again, can’t you sweetspark?”

“Misfire,” Swerve bit his lower lip plate in the multiverse’s most futile attempt at anything ever (keeping himself quiet), “I can’t— I don’t—”

“You got all this beautiful charge in that frame of yours,” Misfire’s digits continued their slow stroking over Swerve’s valve, enjoying the slick slide over soft mesh that pulsed softly with energon below the surface, “Can’t you let me have just a little more?”

“Ah,” Swerve’s vocalizer was heavy with static, “Don’t— can’t— I’m—”

Misfire dipped his thumbs into Swerve’s valve channel, catching the edges and pulling, spreading him as wide as he’d go. Which was considerably wide for a mech his size. Misfire was so into him. Swerve’s calipers whirred and cycled, trying to catch and connect to something, _anything._

Misfire was so into him it was gross.

“Am I not enough for you?” Misfire pouted, letting Swerve’s valve go, watching the mesh slowly work its way back into shape, like it greatly contested the sequence of events that brought it back to ‘closed,’ “You gonna keep that charge all to yourself?”

Swerve tugged at the bonds, trying to pull his legs closed. Misfire watched, a little amused, a lot turned on, “Do you need some help? Do I need to _take_ it from you?”

Swerve moaned so intensely that his vocalizer popped and shorted out partway through the vocalization. Misfire grinned, letting just a little bit of Decepticon snarl enter the expression. Swerve’s fans stuttered, grinding for an astrosecond, before _racing_ once more. Swerve stuttered, “Green, gr-green, so fra-fragging green.”

“You’re such a slut Swerve,” Misfire hummed, bending over the side of the berth to paw through the pile of toys they’d gathered before they started. It was a little bit of Misfire’s, a little bit of nonsense that Misfire had stolen from Magnus’s confiscation locker, and a lot a bit of Swerve, “All these bits and bobs, couldn’t even _wait_ for me to come and make it good for you, could you?”

“No,” Swerve struggled, “It’s not—”

“Slutty, slutty Swerve,” Misfire hummed, selecting a broad surfaced vibrator, “All this charge in such a cute little frame, it’s no wonder that you’ve been stuck up in your hab with digits up your valve, wrapped around your spike.”

“I,” Swerve cycled his intake, “I have— I— Duty shifts!”

Misfire leaned up and over Swerve, ducking down to nuzzle his faceplates. He dropped the vibrator on the berth, sliding three digits into Swerve to pump and massage at desperate nodes, “Duty shifts, huh? Nasty bot. I bet you couldn’t even stop yourself then. How many times were you back behind the bar with a toy stuffed up behind your panel?”

Swerve moaned, valve tightening around Misfire’s digits, so close. Misfire licked a line up his face plate, “I bet you couldn’t wait to the end of your shift either. How many times did you go to the supply closet to overload?”

Misfire shifted his digits, searching out the front facing nodes that always pulsed insistently and were guaranteed to push Swerve over, “Did you even make it as far as the closet? Or were you ducked behind the stills, barely hidden, with your whole servo up your valve?”

Swerve yelled wordlessly, valve cycling tighter when Misfire located the nodes, massaging them relentlessly. Misfire pressed a sucking kiss underneath his audial, then purred, “I bet you were desperate for anyone to see you, to take your digits out and fill you up with their spike. Who were you wishing for, hm? ...Rodimus? ...Whirl? ...Magnus?”

He punctuated each name with a hard press into the nodes, his dialled up and focused sensornet registering the way they pulsed and swelled further with each pass over. Misfire found one and circled over it, pressing hard enough to hurt, “You needed to be filled up so bad, huh babe? I bet Magnus wasn’t even enough. Were you hoping he’d go get that Maximus armor and plow ya?”

Swerve _screamed_ , valve cycling impossibly tighter as he overloaded. Misfire didn’t quit, swirling digits over his nodes to draw the overload out until Swerve was shivering, plating chiming and visor shuttering on and off. 

“Color?” Misfire sat back again and kept up his motions, enjoying the confused firing of calipers around his digits.

Swerve’s intake clicked as it cycled dry a few times, before his vocalizer bubbled, “Green. Please. St-stop, it’s too _much_ , it hurts, _please_ , green.”

“I think the sea you’re laying in proves just how much you’re liking it,” Misfire retracted his digits with difficulty, letting one thumb stroke over the slippery mesh while the other groped for the vibrator he’d dropped, “I bet you need another one. You’re so needy Swerve, how do you even function?”

“Yellow,” Swerve gasped, plating chiming as it ruffled and slicked down. Misfire shifted his servo to Swerve’s thigh, digits ready on the quick release of the cuff.

“What do you need?” Misfire asked, vocalizer gentle, barely registering the fuzz of static his charge layered over it.

“Slutty—” Swerve squirmed a little, turning his head away, “Slutty is fine, but don’t...not needy. Don’t...don’t call me that.”

“Okay, Swerve,” Misfire soothed a servo down his thigh, then back up to his chassis, petting over that a few times, “I won’t, promise. Only what you want.”

Swerve shuddered a few times, and Misfire kept up the petting. The room was quiet but for their whirring fans, rumbling engines, and the crackle slide of charge with each pass of Misfire’s servo. Misfire slowed his movements and stopped, servo on Swerve’s abdominal plating, positioned to move lower again, “Color?”

“Green,” Swerve said, “Just don’t— green.”

“I won’t,” Misfire whispered, and let his servo drift down, brushing over Swerve’s anterior node, coaxing a pained moan from him, “There we go.”

Misfire picked up the vibrator, considering it’s broad surface, “This doesn’t look like it’s meant to go inside you...did you still manage it, Swerve?”

“Oh, um— ha— maybe,” Swerve was pulling at the bonds in earnest now, legs trying to close, servos trying to cover his exposed and abused array. The mesh of his valve lips was puffy, swollen with energon. Misfire felt a rush of oral lubricant in his mouth and it was _so not the time_. 

He was pretty sure that wasn’t gonna bring Swerve off at this point, not with how much charge that he would have to build. Swerve was nearly depleted, but Misfire was pretty sure there was just enough lingering to confuse his sensornet into one or two more of his own. After that, well, he was gonna have to get creative. But his own charge was starting to lick at his circuits in a way that held promise.

He tapped the vibrator idly against Swerve’s knee, working his way up with each soft impact, “I’m not sure it’s gonna get in ya today. Four overloads? You’re cycled down so tight that my digits were hurting on that last one.”

“Fir-first time I’ve hea— someone’s called me— hngh- stop, stop— _tight_ ,” Swerve tried to flinch back with each tap of the vibrator. It wasn’t even on yet. Misfire squirmed himself. His panel had popped at some point during Swerve’s last overload, and his spike felt _heavy_ , lubricant starting to pool down to join Swerve’s, his charge finally catching up to him, just a little.

“I wouldn’t insult you like that, babe,” Misfire assured him, dragging a digit around Swerve’s valve rim, “You’ve got the best, biggest, stretchiest valve this side of Cybertron. And that valve is gonna give me another one, isn’t it?”

“C-can’t,” Swerve whined, “G-g-green.”

Misfire couldn’t help but wrap a servo around his spike, watching Swerve yank against the bonds, hearing the static that swamped his vocalizer. He gave himself one long squeeze, and brought the vibrator up to nudge and push at Swerve’s valve mesh.

“No,” Swerve tried to jerk back, “Hurts— too much— Misfire, please—”

“Hmm,” Misfire let his spike go with great difficulty, and planted a servo next to Swerve’s chassis, flaring his wings out as he loomed up and over. The movement also pushed the vibrator into Swerve’s mesh, parting the mesh to rest wide and heavy over his valve rim, “No, I don’t think so.”

He switched the vibrator on.

Swerve whimpered, entire frame taut as he struggled against the unforgiving bonds, “Stop, stop, s-stop. Too much, Misfire, p-please.”

“I know you have more in you than that,” Misfire grit his denta. The looming he had adopted pushed the vibrator against his own thigh, something he hadn’t considered before turning it on, and he was riding his charge, a little too close to the edge, “Don’t you wanna give me _everything_ , Swerve?”

Swerve sobbed, his hips pulling away as best they could, but Misfire just leaned a little further in with each movement, pressing the toy harder against his mesh. Misfire watched his face, his visor had offlined and his lip plates were twisted in a grimace. Swerve stopped moving, having reached the end of his bond’s limits. Misfire kept the pressure on, sliding the vibrator up and down slowly, to Swerve’s anterior node and back over his valve rim.

Swerve’s plating chimed, as it constantly flared and slicked back down, trying to dispel heat and also protect against the perceived threat causing what his processor was interpreting as pain. Misfire felt like his spike was about to explode, he was so revved up, “Come on babe, I know you can do it. You’re so good, so good for me all the time, and you’re gonna be good for me now too, right?”

Swerve sobbed again, his vocalizer shorting the noise halfway. His frame was _shaking_ , and Misfire couldn’t tell what he was trying to do anymore, whether he was pushing back or forward, or feeling anything at all anymore. Misfire kept the slow slide going, up and down and up, gliding through Swerve’s slick array, “You feel it building? It hurts, right? Like you’re burning? But somewhere in there that burn is just heat, right? And it’s a good heat, but it’s still overwhelming, and you don’t think you could possibly let that heat out, but babe, it’s gonna cover your whole self if you just let it.”

“Mis-mis-mis-mis—” Swerve’s vocalizer caught on his name, each sob and hitch of his vents stopping him. Misfire shifted enough balance himself, grabbing Swerve’s servo with his own, interlacing their digits and pushing them back down to give himself a brace.

“Color?” Misfire asked.

“Gr-gr-gr-gr—” Swerve stuttered, the shaking intensifying.

“So good,” Misfire purred, stopping the vibrator right on Swerve’s node and circling it, “Are you letting that heat out? Isn’t it good? Good just like you are, babe.”

“Hur-hur—” Swerve grit his denta and Misfire watched in wonder as thin streaks of coolant dripped from under his visor.

“I know,” Misfire soothed, keeping his slow circles up, “I know, it’s so much, and you feel like you’re gonna turn inside out with how upside down it all feels, but there’s something good there, and I know you can find it and give it up. Give it to _me_ , babe.”

The coolant dripping down his faceplates became steady streams. Misfire leaned down and licked one. Swerve’s frame locked up, the shaking stopping for one crucial moment, before he tipped over into another overload.

Misfire could only look on in awe as Swerve’s visor flared brightly before fitzing dark, his vocalizer spitting static and binary. His overload seemed to draw on for ages, all his struts tensed, plating flared and expelling heat. Finally, he slumped back to the berth, strutless. The hab was quiet but for the buzzing of the vibrator, still on and pressed to Swerve’s array. He didn’t twitch.

Misfire finally shook himself out of it, switching the toy off and tossing it away, “Swerve?”

He pulled his servo away from the tangle of their digits, sitting back and running both over Swerve’s chassis, gently, “Swerve?”

A double ping hit his comm. A wordless _green_. Misfire laughed, edging on hysterical, “Primus, babe. You really don’t stop do you?”

Swerve’s visor flickered and blinked, the light dialing back up to it’s normal glow. 

“You still good?” Misfire kept up his slow sweep over Swerve’s plating, “Wanna keep going?”

A double ping.

“You are so slagging hot,” Misfire sat back on his thrusters, shivering when one brushed the edge of valve. Frag, “I’m almost as charged up as you always are just from watching you go off.”

Swerve was sprawled out indelicately in front of him, steam rising from his frame and plating all flared, dumping heat in the room. Misfire couldn’t help but reach out a digit to brush over his anterior node. It was so swollen that it pushed completely past his mesh and was glowing steadily. Swerve’s plating ruffled, but he didn’t push away or into the contact.

A double ping.

“Thanks,” Misfire ducked down and kissed his node, softly as he was able. He heard a pop and a rush of steam. He grinned, darting his glossa out to lap softly at the node. Swerve’s intake clicked as it cycled dry.

“One more?” Misfire asked, mouthing at his node between words, enjoying the stiffness of it, the hot swell of energon he could feel with each pass, “Think you can give me one more?”

A double ping.

“Okay,” Misfire licked his node one last time, keeping his glossa out to pass over his spike housing, continuing his path licking and nibbling up Swerve’s chassis to his mouth. He kissed Swerve, mindless of the heat, enjoying the way Swerve was slowly coming back to life, pulling weakly at the bonds. Charge barely crackled over his plating, but Misfire knew he was a live wire himself and it had to be transferring.

He pulled away reluctantly from Swerve’s mouth, “Okay, babe. One more.”

He shifted and lay, careful not to let his entire weight fall on Swerve, but laid out until he could reach a servo down to guide his spike to nudge at Swerve’s mesh. He huffed a laugh, “This is a terrible angle, we should’ve planned that better.”

Swerve flinched back from the contact. But he sent another double ping. Misfire sighed, scrunching himself down to kiss Swerve once more, “Okay. Okay.”

He pushed achingly slowly into Swerve’s valve. His charge danced up and down his spinal strut. He stilled, barely encroaching into Serve’s calipers, “Pitslag.”

“This isn’t gonna last long,” Misfire said through grit denta, “So we better make sure you get a good one.”

This part. This part was tricky. Misfire pushed in nanomechanometer by nanomechanometer, hissing with each swollen and overwrought node he came in contact with. Finally, _finally_ , his spike was fully sheathed in Swerve’s valve. He sighed, tensing again as Swerve’s calipers fired wildly, unsure what to do with all the stimulation. 

“Let’s see,” Misfire muttered as his charge swept through him, no longer willing to be ignored in the heat of Swerve’s valve, that much hotter for all its use. Misfire groaned, focusing carefully and letting his charge bleed off, just a little, “Come on, come on.”

He did not consider just how much Swerve’s nodes, swollen and overcharged already, would superconduct.

“ _Frag_ ,” He yelped, unable to stop himself from jerking back and slamming back in, “Frag, Primus, _fuck_ , Swerve.”

A double ping.

“You are a fragging miracle,” Misfire hissed, and let himself _go_.

He hunched and rutted into Swerve, groaning as his charge built and ricocheted through Swerve and back into him. A closed loop of charge that had been building in him while Swerve spent his six times over. Swerve was shaking again, and whether it was from the force of his thrusts or the misfiring of his sensornet Misfire didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could even _care_ in that moment. 

(Well. He cared enough to keep his comm systems present and ready for a single ping, a wordless _red_.)

“Swerve,” He panted, “Swerve, you close? Think you can? Just once more?”

Swerve didn’t answer, but steam billowed out from under his plating. Misfire’s rhythm stuttered, and he shortened his thrusts, unable to disconnect from the feedback that was building and building between him. He pushed his hips against Swerve and ground against his array, “Close, so close babe.”

A double ping.

Misfire wasn’t sure if that was what pushed him over exactly. It may have been that his charge had finally built too high. It may have been the ripple slide of Swerve’s overused valve over his spike, so familiar and so new at the same time. But something in Misfire’s spark knew that it was the sheer _trust_ of that double ping that rocked through his entire frame and catapulted him into overload.

Charge raced through his lines, into Swerve and back out again, through the puddle of lubricant and back up to dance across their plating. 

Misfire’s processor blanked for several moments with the force of nothing but sheer pleasure, close as he’d come to a full system reboot without actually offlining. He was somehow both completely in and out of control. He felt himself rutting into Swerve, felt Swerve’s calipers contract in the way that meant he was also piggybacking the overload. He felt _so much_ , helpless to stop, only feelings left.

“Swerve,” He whined, the overload finally ebbing. He pulled back as quickly and as carefully as he could, making sure to separate them almost completely.

“Swerve,” Misfire shivered, doing his best to reorient, to _focus_ , this was the important part. He kept one servo on Swerve, reaching down to grab the cube of coolant they’d tucked close to the berth. Swerve was beyond dumping heat at this point, he was a full force furnace on his own.

“Just a klik, a klik,” Misfire muttered, pulling the cube up with numb digits, “C’mon, babe, let’s get this in you. I’ve got a servo on your elbow joint right now, can you feel that? Swerve?”

A double ping.

“Good, that’s good babe,” Misfire coaxed, and moved his servo up, “That’s your shoulder joint, yes?”

A double ping.

Misfire let his servo drift to Swerve’s neck cabling, “You feel right here? That’s your vocalizer down here. Can you reboot that for me? Let me hear the best sound in the multiverse?”

There was a long pause, filled with nothing but both of their fans working overtime. Misfire kept still, but for his digits massaging the cabling the covered Swerve’s vocalizer. He felt something shift underneath.

“M-m-m-misfiiiiiir—” Swerve’s visor light flickered as his vocal suite booted up.

“Hey there,” Misfire quirked a smile, “I missed that sound.”

Swerve croaked out a laugh, mangled and layered with static.

“Yeah,” Misfire said, “That’s the one.”

He leaned down and touched his forehelm to Swerve’s, “How about some coolant?”

“Hot,” Swerve agreed in a whimper.

“I know, shh, I know,” Misfire dropped a kiss on his cheek, and backed up, “Servo is still on your neck, I’m gonna slide it up to your chin now, help you drink, okay?”

“Kay,” Swerve agreed, tilting as best as he was able to help.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Misfire tilted the coolant up to stream slowly into Swerve’s mouth, “I’ll take care of everything.”

The coolant disappeared, slowly but surely. Swerve wasn’t exactly temperate by the end of it, but he wasn’t putting off steam any longer, and his fans seemed up to the job of the rest. Misfire kept a careful gauge on him, wary of him falling to the other extreme. He set the cube down, “Alright babe, feel my servo on your chin? I’m gonna slide it down your neck and across your left shoulder joint, down your arm and pull the release, okay?”

“Left,” Swerve slurred.

“Yes, yes, good, left,” Misfire soothed, following the path he described, releasing Swerve’s arm, “There we go, shh, no don’t tense too much, your hydraulics will seize. Stay where I put you, okay?”

“Kay,” Swerve agreed, fans starting to cycle down.

“Good, that’s good, you’re so good,” Misfire massaged the cabling of Swerve’s arm that was in reach, “I’m going back up to your left shoulder joint now, then across to your right shoulder joint.”

Swerve made a soft sound, plating pressing up into Misfire’s trailing digits. Misfire hummed, just off pitch from their fans, “Right shoulder joint, down to the release on your wrist, got it?”

“Right,” Swerve sighed.

“You’re doing so good, Swerve,” Misfire assured, digits making quick work of the release, rubbing down Swerve’s arm to coax it into relaxing on the berth, “Back up to your shoulder, then down your chassis, okay?”

He continued down, narrating each point that he touched, doing his best to reorient Swerve’s sensornet to normal. He made way through his chassis, the softest touches on his array to reorient and release the maglock, down both legs, releasing them. He was massaging at one of his tires when Swerve shivered.

“Alright, okay, cold?,” Misfire gathered him up and staggered off the berth, his own hydraulics still reeling from the best overload of his slagging life, “Quick trip to the washracks and then we’ll lay down, yeah?”

“Mm, clean,” Swerve said, sounding halfway to recharge already despite the shiver that wracked his system partway through the word.

“Just a little longer babe,” Misfire promised, “Rinse your ooze off and bundle you up nice and warm.”

“Misfire pillow?” Swerve asked, servos clumsy where they groped at Misfire’s wings.

“Absolutely,” He said, ducking his head down to kiss Swerve’s forehelm.

\- - -

Misfire onlined slowly, feeling like he’d been through the ringer. There was also something warm and heavy splayed across his cockpit and abdominal plating, and he felt optics watching him, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Swerve hummed, frame stretching, servos reaching up to brush Misfire’s face. It was early enough that Misfire was running mostly on the processes to vent, pump energon, and not much else, which is what he was going to blame on the way he nuzzled into Swerve’s touch, “So, you’re amazing.”

Misfire felt his faceplates heat, “Shut up.”

“Nope,” Swerve wriggled up and bumped their noses together, “That won’t work ever again, I know you _love_ me talking now.”

Misfire grumbled, but tilted up to kiss Swerve, long and slow, anyways. Swerve groaned into his mouth and Misfire smiled, “I mean, I like _that_ sound.”

“Primus,” Swerve flopped back down across his cockpit, “It feels like I’m never gonna be charged again.”

“Yeah, that’s normal,” Misfire managed to locate his servo and brought it up to fiddle with one of Swerve’s shoulder tires, “Nothing hurts though, right?”

“I’m sore,” Swerve admitted hesitantly, “My anterior node feels like...I don’t even know. Like I’m never touching it again.”

“It had a lot of energon run through it last night,” Misfire spun his tire gently, “You probably stretched the mesh. It should feel better soon enough.”

Swerve hoisted himself back up, propping himself up with his elbow joints on either side of Misfire’s cockpit, “Alright, spill.”

“What?”

Swerve swept a servo out and poked at his cheek, “I knew you’d be good at this. And you were, you really, _really_ were. Ten out of ten, would and will let you make me overload repeatedly again. But—”

Misfire tensed as Swerve trailed off, “But?”

“You...you did stuff that I didn’t even know I needed,” Swerve finally said, a faint frown twisting his features, “How did you know what to do?”

“Oh that,” Misfire relaxed, letting his helm fall back to the berth, “That’s— you’re good though, right? It was good and you feel good right now?”

“I feel fragging fantastic right now,” Swerve assured giving another full frame stretch, wiggling in a way that went right to Misfire’s array, “Now tell me.”

“It was a dare,” Misfire said, processor digging through the files, “We’d heard these wild rumors about this species of organic when we were shored up for repairs one time. Everybody said you couldn’t frag ‘em because they just _kept going_. And like, come on, was I supposed to not? After hearing that?”

“You fragged an _organic_?” Swerve gasped, “That doesn’t seem very ‘Con-like of you.”

Misfire shrugged as best he was able laying down, “Dunno, ‘facing and ruling are two different things, ya know?”

Swerve giggled, “Sure, sure. Tell me about it.”

“Well, lots of organics have spikes too,” Misfire frowned, “They don’t call ‘em spikes though, got all kinds of names. But this one...mech, it was a thing of beauty.”

“Organics don’t get off with charge though?” Swerve didn’t look like he was judging, just curious. It was always refreshing to have someone not be weirded out by his ‘face stories.

“Nah, they’re usually friction if they’re ‘facing for the Pit of it,” Misfire dipped his digits into Swerve’s wheel well, prompting another wiggle, “But it’s not like friction does nothing for us, just takes a little more work. And they had more than enough work to put in it, frag.”

“How long?” Swerve’s visor didn’t have the telltale glow, but his mouth had dropped open just a little bit in that way of his. Misfire smirked.

“I think I finally got knocked into a force reboot around my tenth?” Misfire mused, letting his hand fall from Swerve’s wheel well to squeeze his aft, “Dunno how long until I came to, but they were still going.”

Swerve whined, rolling his hips down, “Ow, ow, slag.”

Misfire froze, “You okay?”

“I want to be charged up so badly right now,” Swerve said, sounding so incredibly put out that Misfire couldn’t help but laugh. Swerve pouted, “I can’t believe you had enough charge for _ten_.”

“Well it was all just, I dunno, building from me and from friction? So I didn’t have any bleed off into them and they weren’t giving me any. It wasn’t like, ten strut-melting ones like last night, they were pretty small. The last few just…” Misfire shivered, “They were a _lot_. I’m impressed you didn’t reboot last night, if I’m honest.”

“So, did they do the stuff you did for me after?” Swerve asked.

“What? No, Spin did when I finally dragged aft back to the W.A.P.,” Msifire shook his helm, “He figured my wires were all inside out and backwards and I needed to get them back in order.”

“So—” Swerve was quiet for a few kliks, his mouth closed around a small frown, “What happened with the organic?”

“Dunno,” Misfire shrugged again, “I rebooted and they were still going, eked another couple out and rebooted again, and they were gone.”

Swerve stretched himself up and kissed him. Misfire hummed into the contact. Swerve broke away and smiled at him, a little wobbly, “I’m glad you took care of me. Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Misfire used his grip on Swerve’s aft to drag him up to a more comfortable kissing distance, “I know, I remember you saying I’m way hot.”

And maybe kissing distance was too close for how loud Swerve laughed, but Misfire wouldn’t have him anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about tender robots on twitter @floralpunkcfb


End file.
